Flicker and Fail
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: Red has a very personal problem that he manages in a rather unusual way. What will happen when Lizzie's snooping goes too far and she finds out? Inspired by Sex, Lies, and Videotape. Angsty Lizzington.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Inspired by and shamelessly ripped off from Sex, Lies, and Videotape. (If you haven't seen it, then by all means, DO. However, not seeing it won't prevent you from understanding this fic.) Takes place circa Leonard Caul. Rated M for pervasive sexual themes.

This one is more than a wee bit strange, so I'm very curious to know what you guys think. Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or anything else, and I'm making no profit whatsoever from this silly fic.

-...-...-...-...-

"Okay, so what happens now? Where do I begin?" asked the demure and somewhat anxious woman who was sitting on the couch in Red's current safe house. She had dark, wavy hair, a slender build, and huge brown eyes. She was just a random bartender, someone he had met that night, but their somewhat unorthodox interaction would be as intimate as anything he was capable of having, with anyone.

He focused the camera and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Okay, we're rolling. Start with your name."

"Alright. My name. Is Cynthia. Patrice. Bishop."

He chuckled and shifted his weight in the chair where he sat across from her. "Use a normal voice."

"Okay." She laughed and leaned forward, toying with her glass of iced tea, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage.

"Tell me about your first sexual experience," he drawled.

"You mean the first time I had sex?"

"Or the first time you saw an erect penis."

"Well, I was fifteen." She set down her iced tea and pulled her legs up on the couch. "It was my boyfriend, and we were fooling around in his basement."

"What did you think? Was it what you expected?"

"Not really." She laughed. "I thought it would be smooth, like a cylinder. I wasn't expecting all these veins and ridges and stuff." She was starting to relax, a far away look in her eye as she remembered the somewhat awkward moment from her youth. "You know it's funny, I just zeroed in on it, and it seemed like a seperate thing to me, like a seperate entity that wasn't even attached to him. I was fascinated. I remember being startled when he spoke to me."

"What did he say?" Red asked softly.

"He said my hand felt good."

"You were stroking him?"

"Not at first. I just touched, real lightly, like it might break or something."

"Then what?"

"Then I wrapped my fingers around it, and he put his hand around mine and showed me what to do. He was moaning my name, and I couldn't, I don't know - I was surprised that I could make him do that, make those sounds."

"Did he touch you?"

"I let him touch my breasts... um, he did it like this." She unbuttoned her blouse, but instead of taking off her black lace bra, she pulled the cups down to expose her breasts, and then she palmed them, one at a time, and briefly tugged at her taut nipples. "He was rather graceless about it, but he was enthusiastic."

Red waited, as he often did when the interviews got steamy, for some sign of life from his cock. A twitch, a slight rush of blood, anything. Like always, it didn't seem to give a damn, but that wasn't much of a disappointment. He knew that it would spring to life later, when he watched the tape by himself. He'd amassed dozens of them. It always worked when he was alone.

"Are you having sex with anyone currently?"

For the first time during the interview, she blushed. "Yes."

"With whom?"

"John. He's my sister's husband."

Well, that was something new. His interest piqued.

"I take it she doesn't know."

"No," she shook her head, "But sometimes I want to tell her. She thinks she's got the perfect life, with her big house and her lawyer husband. They aren't even having sex."

"He told you that?"

"He didn't have to. The way he takes me, there's no way he has anything left for her."

"You seem very satisfied. You get off on the fact that he's your sister's husband?" He canted his head and smirked boyishly.

"Well yeah, in some perverse way, I suppose I do."

He nodded and waited for her to go on, but Cynthia had other ideas.

"When you do these interviews, do the women ever... do things to themselves?" she asked.

"Sometimes, if they want to."

"Would you like it if I took off my skirt?"

He was glad that one of them had found talk of her affair arousing. "Yes."

She unzipped the black miniskirt, lifted her hips, and pushed it down her well-toned legs. She left her heels on, propping them up on the armrest of the couch.

"You aren't wearing any panties," he commented.

"I usually don't."

"Do you ever touch yourself when you think about John?"

She coyly sucked two fingers into her mouth and nodded. "Sometimes. Would you like me to show you?"

"Please do," he replied.

That John guy was obviously an awful bastard, but Red couldn't help thinking that he was a lucky one too.

-...-...-...-...-...-

It was several days before he finally had the time to watch his latest videotape, in his tiny flat in Bethesda. The entire process had become so ritualized that it required no thought at all. He grabbed a handful of tissues and locked the door before inserting the tape and settling down on the bed to get comfortable.

He wasn't always this way, no. His appetite for sex used to be healthy and easily sated.

But then, Elizabeth.

He'd stormed into her life and she into his heart. His heart, which he'd never thought of as a delicate thing, was irrevocably ripped from his chest and transplanted to the soles of her feet, so that wherever she went, and whatever she did, she unwittingly stomped upon it.

Even so, his cock was an eager participant for sex with other women, at first.

But then she came to him after closing the case on The Cypress Agency, seeking comfort. She was so soft and pliable in his arms, so warm and giving under his caring touch. The look in her eye was one that his hopeful heart dared not attempt to interpret.

Until she kissed his neck, and it was as if he'd imagined it. He didn't even react until she did it again, higher, and again, on his jaw, making her way to his disbelieving lips for a kiss that was long, languorous, and deep.

Then she pulled back and fled, horrified by the heady transgression against her hired husband.

And he raged, raged against himself so hard for letting it happen. He'd been such a fool, such a goddamn fool to think that she could ever return the feelings of such a pathetic old man.

He needed only try and fail twice with two other women before he gave up on sex entirely. Ever since Elizabeth, it had felt empty and perfunctory anyway.

The interviews had become a secret little obsession, a very personal project. Pornography would have been easier, obviously, but that never did it for him. He needed to interact with the women, and establish some sort of a connection that he could call upon later, in private.

For the moment, Cynthia was doing it for him just fine. He unzipped his trousers and palmed his thick erection, all ready to go by the time she'd disposed of her miniskirt.

Then the phone on his nightstand began to vibrate. He pointedly ignored it until the buzzing stopped and then began again. Only one person had the audacity to blow up his phone, so he grabbed the remote to press 'pause' before answering, his breath somewhat labored, "Lizzie, how can I help you?"

She went right to the point. "I have the fulcrum."

"Ah... finally."

"Am I interrupting something?"

He sighed. "It's quite all right. I can finish later."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Now we get Liz's perspective. Thanks so much for reading. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimed, again

-...-...-...-...-

It must have been Tom. How else would the cabal have known when and where she was meeting with Red to hand off the fulcrum? They never said where they were meeting over the phone, so even if the lines were tapped, there was nothing constructive to be overheard.

When the bullet hit Red's chest, all of her rage and misgivings about the man vaporized. Her main focus was on saving his life. She couldn't lose him. She didn't just need him for answers. She needed him for... everything.

But for now his life was in capable hands, and here she was, entering his secret flat in Bethesda, and her curiosity for the enigmatic man was alighted anew. First, she set about locating the items that Dembe had sent her to get, but then... hell, she couldn't help herself. There wasn't any time for this, but when would she have another chance to dig around in this place? Being a secret flat, she could only imagine what sort of treasures he might have hidden there. She may get some answers, and this rare opportunity was unlikely to repeat itself.

The flat wasn't big enough to offer many hiding places, so she made quick work of checking the most obvious spots, starting with the bedroom. Her eyes lit up when she spotted a large briefcase under the bed, but of course it had a combination lock. She tried to think of numbers that might hold some type of significance for Red, but her first few tries yielded nothing. Briefly, she contemplated harsher methods, like bolt cutters, but that wouldn't do. She didn't want him to know that she'd been snooping. He wasn't even supposed to know that she was there at all. On a lark, she tried her birthday, and the briefcase snapped open. "Aha!" She nearly jumped for joy.

Inside, she found rows of videotapes, all homemade, and each labeled with a different woman's name and date. She recognized Red's handwriting immediately. Who were these women, and what did he have on the tapes? Blackmail against them? She selected the only familiar name from the lot, Samar Navabi, and popped it into the VCR.

The camera zoomed in on the mossad agent's face. She was sitting on a couch, in a place that Liz didn't recognize. It looked like a swanky hotel suite.

"My name is Samar Navabi."

From behind the camera, she could hear Red's voice asking, "What's your favorite position?"

 _Wait, what? No._..

"I like to be on top."

 _Oh._

"Of course, you like to control the pace," he murmured, just loudly enough for the mic to carry the sound.

"Mmhm, as well as the depth and angle of penetration."

She couldn't believe her eyes and ears. This was obscene, but it was what Samar said next that really perked her ears up.

"What about Elizabeth?"

"What about her?"

"What would she think of your interviews? The videotapes. I can't imagine she'd be too understanding."

 _Hah! She was right about that._

"I don't want to talk about her, " Red replied.

 _Of course he didn't._

"But you always tell her the truth. That's your thing, right? You don't lie to her. So what are you going to tell her about these tapes?"

He sighed. "'Truth' isn't synonymous with 'full disclosure'."

 _Typical_.

Samar shrugged her shoulders. "Fair enough. I was just curious. Proceed."

 _Damnit!_

Red was all too eager to do exactly that. Without missing a beat, he shot out, "So, when you're on top, do you usually come?"

She laughed. "I always come."

"It sounds like you're good at getting what you want. Do you find enough partners, or do you occasionally have to meet your own needs?"

 _No. Just no._

"Enough? Usually..." She smiled coyly, making eyes at the camera. "Sometimes I take matters into my own hands."

"What's the most unusual place that you've touched yourself?"

 _DOUBLE NO!_ Liz rushed to stop the tape before the agent could answer. She'd heard enough. What the hell was all of this for, anyway? Was this Red's idea of foreplay? Did they have sex after all this bizarre dirty talk? If so, then she could almost wrap her head around it, but she _needed_ to know, so she decided to fast-forward through the whole thing. It was nearly an hour long. As the tape wound, she saw her coworker's blurry form disrobe, perform for the camera, and then get dressed again.

So, they didn't have sex. Then the tapes were for... what? His own personal use? Some bizarrely intimate form of pornography? And why the hell should she care, anyway?

He'd watched some of the surveillance footage from her old home with Tom, she reasoned. It was quite possible that he'd seen her own intimate moments on film.

None of that explained why she was so innately _upset_ by the tapes.

Jealousy?

She had imagined closeness with Reddington before. She'd even had a taste of it, once, in a delicious moment of weakness. Even so, if she hadn't run away, deep down she knew that he never would have asked her to sit down for one of these interviews.

But if he had asked, she would have said 'no', right? Yes, of course she'd turn him down. E _mphatically_ , in fact. She wasn't a prude, but she certainly lacked the temerity for something like this.

She rewound the tape, put everything back exactly as she'd found it, and made her way to the door. She could revisit all of this strangeness later. For now, her only objectives were to deliver the items to Dembe and find Leonard Caul.

Caul found her first.

-...-...-...-...-

After delivering the fulcrum to the director, Liz was far too exhausted to deal with Reddington, but she didn't have much of a choice. All she really wanted to do was lay eyes on him, see him conscious and breathing, and tell him where he was going next. As she walked through the warehouse, she tried not to think about the bodies and the injured men strewn about the concrete floor. Her overwrought psyche didn't have enough room to process the carnage.

Red caught sight of her from across the room and perked up instantly. "Lizzie." He shifted in his bed, trying to sit up a little, but she could see that he was a pretty out of it, like he'd just had a fresh shot of morphine.

Her gut unfurled in relief, but that wasn't enough to put him back on her good side. "We've cleared a wing at Sibley Memorial for you and your medical team. Cooper will oversee your security personally."

In typical Reddington fashion, he'd probably made his own plans already. He was far more interested in suturing what he still believed was their latest break. "Lizzie, when I hired Tom Keen - "

"Don't. There's nothing you can say." Had he not surmised that Tom was the reason that he'd been shot? Or even worse, that it was her fault that he was even able to set it up? She'd probably care later, but for now, she wasn't at all interested in the story of how Red had hired him.

Of course he ignored her. "When I hired Tom Keen, it was... at a time of profound transition in your life. You'd already left behind the relative safety and innocence of youth. Sam's care - "

"You want to talk, Reddington? Tell me about the videotapes," she spat. She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant, desperately trying to pretend that the words hadn't escaped her mouth accidentally. Her only recourse for opening this door was to drag him through it, whether he liked it or not. She held his eye and hoped that he couldn't sense how terribly she was quailing inside. "More specifically, Agent Navabi's tape. Are you _trying_ to get her fired, or to possibly have your immunity deal rescinded?"

He looked as if she'd just shot him again, paled by shock, but he quickly shifted his weight and donned a mask of indignation. "You were in my apartment."

"Dembe couldn't leave you. Someone had to get the key and the interface for the fulcrum."

He grimaced. "And he instructed you to look under the bed to find them?"

"No, he - "

"No, you couldn't resist the opportunity to conduct a thorough invasion of my privacy. Did you convince yourself that you were just doing your job?"

Even drugged to the teeth on opiates, he was incorrigably evasive. "Why did you make that tape? Are you having sex with her?"

"No, I'm not having sex with Agent Navabi, or anyone else for that matter." He paused and worked his jaw. "I'm impotent."

She blanched, both arms dropping to her sides. "What?"

"I'm impotent."

"No, you can't be. What about Naomi, Madeline Pratt, Melee, Dechambou?" Hell, she could have gone on. He had more notches in his bedpost than a politician's courtesan.

"Well, I wasn't always, but... now I can't get an erection in the presence of another person, so for all practical purposes, I'm impotent."

"Oh..." She was shocked beyond words.

Seeing that he had her off-balance, he capitalized with a heavy dose of patronization. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, Lizzie? Are you going to tell Harold now? Try to get Agent Navabi fired?" What made it doubly infuriating was the fact that she probably deserved it.

She clenched and unclenched her firsts. "No, I'm just. I'm just going to go."

This time, as she weaved her path through the day's bloody aftermath, it didn't register at all.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Liz gets what she wants... maybe.

Hope you all have a happy new year! Thank you for reading. There will be one more chapter after this one.

Still disclaimed.

-...-...-...-...-

Liz didn't regret what she had done. It was either Conolley or Red. If she'd let him go, who knows how quickly he could have set his plans into motion? She wasn't about to give him the chance.

And Red got her out, of course.

Now she sat beside him in the backseat of an unmarked van without windows, headed towards his flat to hunker down until it became safe to travel. The uncovered memories about her father had worked them both into a state of utter distress, so when she rested her weary head on his shoulder, it was as much to comfort him as it was for herself. She felt the slight hitch in his breath before he willed himself to relax beneath her.

As soon as they arrived however, he distanced himself immediately by retreating to his bedroom. She slowly circled the living room, looking at his books and photographs, but she wasn't snooping this time. She was simply desperate for a distraction.

It was hours before Red emerged from his room to find her laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His cat was curled up on top of her, fast asleep. The traitorous little beast had always favored women. Liz didn't move a muscle when she heard his footsteps, and instead just muttered, "Tom has been working for the cabal, spying on us. He's the reason you got shot." She still couldn't believe that they hadn't talked about it.

Red came to a stop in front of her and put his hands in his pockets. "Yes, I know," he replied softly.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He sighed. "Tell me the last time you listened to me when I tried to tell you anything about Tom. I've given up on pandering to your apparent blind spot."

She couldn't deny that he was right. "I pretended not to know, so he kept pretending to want to help me. That's how I got the thumb drive from Andropov."

"That was very dangerous... but given what we've learned from it, I take it you don't regret your actions."

She shooed the cat away and turned on her side to look at him. "Only the lengths I had to go to get it back after he took it from me."

He quirked an eyebrow in question. "He took it from you, after you found it? What did you have to do to get it back? You didn't kill him, did you?"

"No, I didn't kill him..."

 _Unfortunately_.

She'd kissed Tom in order to palm the thumb drive from his shirt pocket. Handsy, heavy, intense kissing - the kind that typically leads to sex. She felt absolutely disgusted with herself, and in need of a pallette cleanser.

Suddenly, she bolted upright and looked Red straight in the eye, challenging. "Let's make a videotape."

He shook his head. "Oh no, we're not doing that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't believe that's something you'd want to do in a normal frame of mind."

"Spare me. I just shot the Attorney General of the United States of America. There is no 'normal' anymore. 'Normal' is just a memory, and it's not even a recent one, for either of us."

He turned away and went into the kitchen to pour them each a tumbler of scotch, ruminating over her request.

"And besides," she added, "They're just _tapes_. They aren't digital. If you're so worried about me changing my mind, you can easily destroy the tape to salve my dignity or whatever it is you're trying to protect."

He handed her the drink and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. "It isn't just the tape itself, Lizzie. Destroying the tape wouldn't be enough to erase the things I'd learn about you, and the last time I checked, you feel that I know too much already. The subject matter is too intimate. It's much closer than you want me to be."

She lifted her chin to gaze at him directly again, still partially unsure of herself and desperate not to let it show. "What if it isn't?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sex is basic. It's universal. It's intimate, yes, but doesn't our connection go deeper, further? Decades, all the way into a past that I can't even remember. I'd argue that a discussion about sex sounds comparatively simple."

He couldn't argue his perspective without revealing far, far too much. Accordingly, he tried a different angle, one that would yield constructive results, no matter how she responded. He adopted his most firm lecturing voice and spouted, "You're going to have to rely on me heavily during the coming weeks. We have a lot of work to do."

"Uh huh, and?"

"If we do this, you have to promise me that if you regret it, you won't let that inform your behavior, especially towards me. We need to be on top of our game if we're to have any hope of evading both Justice and the cabal while we work to clear your name."

"You know, just yesterday, I was quite angry with you for several different reasons. None of those issues have been resolved, but is it driving me now? Has it driven me at all today? I think I can manage."

That was about the best assurance and insurance that he could hope for.

"Very well." He went into his bedroom and returned with the camera in-hand. "Are you comfortable sitting there?"

"Sure."

His lips set into a thin line, his brow furrowed. "We're rolling. Start with your name."

She refrained from stating the obvious, that he already knew her name, assuming that it was a part of his ritual. "My name is Elizabeth Scott Keen."

He went right for the jugular. Perhaps he could shock her into stopping early. "When you were married, did you ever think about having sex with someone other than your husband?"

She downed the last of her scotch and choked, coughing and gasping pathetically. "Uh..."

"Okay, we should stop. Are you alright?" He set the camera on the floor.

Her words came out with more force than she intended. "No! I'm fine. I don't want to stop."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He picked up the camera and gave her a moment to catch her breath before softly repeating himself. "Okay. Did you ever think about having sex with someone other than your husband?"

"Yes... I did."

"Did you act on your thoughts?"

"I... well, kind of."

"You _kind of_ had sex with someone else?"

"No, I didn't."

"Who did you think about?"

"I thought... I've thought about you."

She couldn't even look into the camera lens. She was far too captivated by the blazing heat in his eyes. It was enough to drive her to ask, "Have you thought about me?"

Red didn't even blink. "Yes."

"What did you think... about me?"

"I've thought about what you would look like having an orgasm."

She took a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head. "You know, _I_ would like to know what I look like having an orgasm."

"Do you have them?"

"I'm not sure." She chuckled nervously. "I guess I would know if I had."

"Hm." He nodded slowly, half smug and half saddened for her.

She squared her shoulders and leaned forward intently. "Can you do that?"

"Can I do what?"

"Give a woman an orgasm."

"Yes," he replied softly.

"How?"

He worked his jaw, flicking his tongue across his bottom lip. It didn't escape him that her eyes had followed the motion. "With.. my mouth, my tongue. Hands, fingers."

"Could you give me one?"

His eyes dropped to the floor. "No."

"You can't, or you won't?"

He flung one hand through the air dismissively. "I can't because I won't."

"Well, why not? Don't you find me desirable?" Indignation gave her voice an edge.

"Yes."

She shot back, louder, "Then tell me what made you impotent."

His controlled response came laced with venom. "I don't find this turning of the tables very constructive to the interview."

Liz put her profiling skills into action, rambling her thoughts aloud as she worked her way through the subject at hand. "Something fairly recent. Remember our kiss? Late January, 2014. It was so intense, wasn't it? In fact, it was one of the best I've ever had, and I think... that's why it frightened me. But _you_ liked it too. I remember that we were sitting down, and I saw the strain on your pants. You were at least half-hard. The earliest dated tape was April of 2014. So, somewhere between our kiss and that tape, something happened, something psychologically devastating. Was it Madeline Pratt? Did she do something to you?"

Red shook his head and scoffed, "It wasn't just one thing. Many traumas and losses lead up to it. Why do you ask, Lizzie? Are you going to try to wash my sins? Cleanse my soul? _Turn me on?_ "

His patronization wasn't enough to deter her. She held his gaze and responded gently, "Maybe I can."

He grabbed the back of his neck and stood up, taking long strides towards the window. He didn't want to look at her anymore. It was impossible to look and not hope, and having far-flung hopes was just another form of psychological torture. He'd already suffered enough of _that,_ thank you.

With cat-like, fluid grace, she followed him, discreetly turning the camera in their direction as she passed. She tried without success to meet his eyes through the faint reflection in the glass, standing close enough that he could feel her breath at the nape of his neck.

She put her hand on the back of his scalp so slowly that he could feel it before she'd even made contact. A deep shiver rolled through him as her fingers threaded through his hair.

Powerless, he closed his eyes in surrender.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: At last, the ending. Can Liz revive him?

Thanks so much for reading along this far. Your encouragement has helped immensely. Let me know what you think of the final chapter!

Disclaimed. I own neither the characters nor the royalties.

-...-...-...-...-

If Liz were to truly make him whole, she'd have to touch him everywhere - melt him down slowly. The very thought put a buzz in her belly that radiated through her limbs and caused her fingers to tremble faintly.

Their chances of being seen from the street were low, but Red's position at the window made her nervous. Without explanation, she gripped both of his biceps and gently pulled him backwards to lay down on the chaise lounge behind them. There was just enough room left for her to sit sideways, facing him, her hip pressed against his.

In a tender display of openess, hoping for his trust, she took his hand in hers and guided it up to her neck, where she lightly pressed his palm against the hollow of her throat, and the pads of his fingers to her carotid pulse. She let him feel her vulnerability, her arterial blood pumping unprotected beneath pale, thin skin. He need only apply pressure to cut off her airway and deprive her brain of oxygenated blood.

But he would never, and she knew that, now.

...

For over twenty years, he'd structured his life so that Elizabeth would be kept safe from him. Now, as she guided him to touch her in seemingly benign, exposed places on her body, he intrinsically felt danger ratcheting up with every beat of his pounding heart. Voices from distant corners of his mind called out, demanding that he make her stop, but the feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips all but muted them.

Overwhelmed by conflict, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

She kept moving, showing him the softest parts of her face - her eyelids, the deep, hollow circles beneath them, her lovely, precious lips. They parted beneath his fingertips, a soft rush of air escaping as if stolen.

...

His face demanded tactile exploration as well. Finally, she'd answer to what she could now admit was a familiar calling, and how easy it was to do so while his eyes were closed. She started with his temples, those twin points of pressure that carried mere shadows of the burdens resting on his weary shoulders. She traced several light circles before moving down to his sideburns, across his cheekbones, and finally, finally his lips. They felt exactly as she'd imagined.

...

He felt strange under her close scrutiny, even with his eyes closed. Or was it even scrutiny? It wasn't unpleasant, but it was... a lot. Had a woman ever done this before? Taken the time to trace over every line and contour of his face?

No, not that he could remember.

Perhaps she was nervous - nervous and stalling for time as she tried to think of a way out. As soon as the thought came crashing in, it consumed him. He balled his hands into fists and waited for the other shoe to drop.

But then he felt her weight shift. She leaned in slowly, until her forearms rested on his chest. When he felt her breath cascading over his lips, his eyes popped open in disbelief. She gently framed his face with both hands, steadily holding his gaze with her own, and began to whisper against his lips.

 _"Bathe in your gaze the_

 _Universe fraternal_

 _Immerse beings, things, as_

 _your desire goes_

 _Brandish the mountains as_

 _one throws a rose"_

Apparently she had remembered his fondness for Proust. Through him, it appeared, she was coaxing Red to seize this moment with her. Touched, his heart cried out in victory, but his mouth retained control of the situation by softly completing the verse.

 _"E'en your godly gesture_

 _wounding a mortal_

 _So your enchanted eyes will_

 _tint rose_

 _Certainly he who modestly_

 _saw your future as seer_

 _Oh, keep for him at least a_

 _sweet souvenir"_

And he knew that she was about to bestow upon him a gift far greater than any souvenir a man had ever received. She pressed her lips against his, both fever-hot and cashmere-soft. Stirrings of lust, of blood, of love flooded his body. More than a flicker. How easy it was with her, he marveled at his body's response. No longer a passive recipient, he reached for her and opened his mouth, giving back with adoration.

She pulled back to gaze at him once more, panting, her pupils blown. When she stood up and walked behind him, he immediately felt bereft. Was this all she had wanted? Did she feel that she'd fixed him? He didn't feel 'fixed'. An appetizer is no meal. He needed so much more.

She walked over to the camera and shut it off. "However short, I think we made a pretty good tape," she explained. "Now you can make no mistake that I'm doing this for you, not the camera." Truth be told, if this could only happen once, he wouldn't have minded having a recording, but he was in no position to complain. In fact, he hadn't even realized that she was filming them at the window and chaise.

Mercifully, she returned to his side and took his hand. It seemed she wanted to maintain her control of how things proceeded, and he was more than willing as she lead him into the bedroom and closed the door.

She stripped him down slowly, lingering at each button and cuff, taking each chance for an extra caress, pausing frequently to kiss him again and again. She even kneeled down to remove his shoes and socks, kissing his ankles, her fingers cradling the soles of his feet. He was on fire, trembling against the urge to help, to rip off her clothes and take her swiftly.

His Elizabeth had always been hard, then soft, then hard again, but he'd never seen her softer.

...

When at last he stood before her in his oxblood-colored boxer briefs, she was surprised to find him aroused already. It had been so easy, too easy. Through the simple act of undressing him, already she'd succeeded in her goal of touching him everywhere... except for _there_. She'd anticipated having to make a little more effort, directly, with either her hands or mouth.

 _'Perhaps it was me,'_ she thought. Perhaps his problems were also her own. She hastily banished those thoughts, casting them alongside her newfound revelations about his scars. The last thing she wanted to do was raise questions. Maybe later, but not now.

She backed him up against the wall and pressed the full length of her body against his, applying extra pressure with her hips. His responsive moan into her mouth was so low and sweet that she could almost taste it. He kneaded her ass and pulled her against him more tightly. Arousal speared through her like a hot knife. Just as it had for him, her intense want was transformed into an all-encompassing need. She needed this. Needed _him_.

He pushed her backwards and guided her to lay down on the bed. Starting at her ankles, he ran his hands up the entire length of her inseam, effectively reducing her to a writhing mess by the time he reached her center, which he ignored as he blazed a path to her jeans button and zipper. In one slow, albeit smooth motion, he peeled off both her pants and panties.

"My god, you are exquisite, Elizabeth," he exalted. She felt it too, under his heated gaze.

All at once, he was on top of her, firmly gripping her hips and pulling her down to his eager mouth.

His tongue, god, his tongue. It did the most delightfully wicked things - things for which she didn't have the words to describe. She felt the tension in her lower belly build with every little flick and swirl. But then he got his fingers involved, curling them expertly, with just the right amount of pressure as he flattened his tongue on her clit. She yelped in shock, both knees squeezing his head, her hands helplessly grasping the sheets for something, anything to keep her grounded. She felt overwhelmed, almost afraid, certain that something big was about to happen. "Red, I, I can't!" She pleaded, and he dialed it back a notch, withdrawing his fingers and kissing her languorously.

"Come here," she beckoned.

...

Red could barely contain himself. He had her right where he wanted her, right on the edge, and he had every intention of keeping her there for as long as possible. On hands and knees, he crawled up her body without letting his lips leave her skin even once.

She was resplendent.

While he was busy with her breasts, she reached down to snap the elastic of his boxer briefs. "Red?"

"Mm?"

"Lose 'em. Now."

They were gone in a flash. He could deny her nothing, and what she wanted now was what he wanted to give her most.

She wrapped her slender fingers around him and guided him towards her, a wicked, victorious smile on her face. He groaned. Just the feeling of her hand on him felt _divine_. "Is all this for me?" she asked.

"Every inch," he growled.

When she released him, he teased her, pressing only the head in before pulling back out and rubbing against her clit. Each time, he drove in a little further, stretching her slowly. She felt so tight wrapped around him that it was almost more than he could bear. When at last she was ready for all of him, she rocked up and grabbed his ass to hold him in place for long, long seconds. "My god," he moaned into the crook of her neck.

He set a super-slow pace, much to her apparent chagrin. She planted the soles of her feet into the mattress and thrusted upwards eagerly. He dropped one hand between them to massage her, but then she squeezed around him like a vice, stealing both his breath and his already precarious self-control.

"You feel so good. Harder, Red, please!"

Heeding her plea, he surged forward and watched her eyes roll back.

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Like that."

Very well, but he could do her one better. Swiftly, he scooped her up with one hand under the small of her back, and shoved a pillow beneath her hips. His next deep thrust was calculated, his weight distributed _just so_ at the new angle. He paid attention to her reactions to his every move, and as he held his position, buried to the hilt, her muscles began to flutter around him as she cried out.

Yes, _there_. He held her close and moved slowly, applying exactly the right pressure inside her, luxuriating in how good it felt to make her feel good - and god, she'd better come soon, because if she didn't, then he would.

"God, Red!"

He peppered her face and neck with kisses. "It's okay, Lizzie. I've got you. Let go."

He rocked her through the first throbbing pulses of her orgasm, and then he let go with her, both a writhing mess, crying out, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It felt like he was coming in buckets, like he might never stop. He was nearly blinded by pleasure, and could hardly make out the features of her beautiful face.

When at last he was spent, exquisitely satisfied, he kissed the dew from her eyelids and rolled over to gather her into his arms.

"That, Red... wow. I didn't know that I, I mean I never..."

"Mmm, I know." Boy, did he ever. It wasn't that he thought that she couldn't turn him on, or that he thought he wouldn't be able to make her come, but the way it all happened, the explosion of electricity - he was still faintly trembling from it all.

She scooted closer and rested her head on his chest, her fingers idly combing through his coarse hair. He listened as her breathing gradually became slow and even. If she fell asleep, that would be just fine with him. He felt as if he'd slipped into a dream at least an hour ago.

But if this was all a dream, then please god, he didn't want to wake up.

"I love you, you know," she said, sighing contentedly. She just said it so easily, so casually, as if she wasn't shaking him to his very soul.

He shook his head, as if to clear his ears, as if he hadn't really heard her. "No, Lizzie, I... I didn't know that. I..."

"You don't have to say it back. I _do_ know."

"Yes, I've loved you for a long time."

"So..." She began, suddenly tentative. "No more videotapes?"

"For as long as I can have you."

"Then it was about me," she replied, a rush of air escaping from her lips.

He held her more tightly and kissed the top of her head. "I believe you already knew that. Elizabeth, it is _always_ about you."


End file.
